


Cone

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Ice Cream, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5655136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an ice cream cone, John manages to be even more blank than normal. It's quite an achievement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cone

Harold supposes it could've been worse: at least now the ice truck holds no threat to John.

"Perhaps it's a survival mechanism," he muses blearily. It is very cold, and holding an ice cream cone that was his associate only a moment ago isn't helping matters. "Your body has adapted," he sneezes, "to the environment."

As an ice cream cone, John manages to be even more blank than normal. It's quite an achievement.

"You're vanilla," Harold notes, and sneezes again. "I wasn't expecting that. I wonder why." The dark chocolate coated cone is a nice touch. There's something about color contrast there: the white and black, and the way Harold's fingers are rapidly turning blue. 

The radio crackles. "Feeling more talkative?" their number says.

"You make a terrible Elias," Harold informs him. "And no."

The radio crackles out.

"I like vanilla ice cream," Harold tells John. "I'm glad you're not melting. That would be terrible." Harold's not shivering anymore, which should be a relief, but for some reason seems distressing.

Harold's very tired, and a nap is sounding more and more appealing. If he falls asleep, though, he'll drop John. "I suppose I should finish you first," he says, his voice oddly slurred, and licks the ice cream.

Suddenly John is right next to him, life-sized and incredibly warm, only he scoots away when Harold tries to cuddle up to him.

"I have to get us off the truck," John says, very urgent.

"Mmm, yes," Harold says, tacking on, "oh, yes, the truck," as he registers that part of the sentence.

Later off, once both the hypothermia and the substance the number drugged him with have worn off, Harold finds time to ask, "But if it were all a hallucination, why do I have a stain of vanilla ice cream on my sleeve?"

John turns very red and looks determinedly at his shoes, muttering something about "true love's lick".


End file.
